Sunday 10 October 2010

Georgia to Azerbaijan

The road out of Tbilisi heads up into the surrounding hills as it snakes its way to the Azerbaijan border. The scenery changes quite dramatically from urban sprawl to a limitless vista of baron, scorched central Asian "steppe".   Becky spots a cowboy at the side of the road..



Soon enough we arrive at the Georgian border, once again the police are helpful and friendly. Everything new in this country is modelled and styled very much on the U.S, right down to the police uniforms. Interestingly some of the guards wear U.S pattern camouflage clothing, others U.S styled police shirts. All carry U.S made Colt firearms and wear baseball caps. I have no doubt this is intended on some level to highlight the countries Western allegiance to neighbouring Russia…

We joke with the guard on the final barrier as he tells us to prepare ourselves for a very different attitude in Azerbaijan. “What can I say? Some people like the West….Some don’t. Good luck guys. Remember, just be patient!” He taps the roof of the car, hands me my passport and we’re off. I ask for permission to snap a picture. “Sure!”



The difference between Georgia and Azerbaijan was quite astonishing. As we queue for the Azerbaijan border, stern looking border agents dressed in Russian urban camouflage with large peaked caps stare distrustfully at us. One guard walks past and sarcastically shouts “Hey England, America, our friends! Welcome in Georgia not Azerbaijan!” A second guy laughs and they both walk off.

It was right about now that I noticed people checking out my shorts…A pretty standard pair of khaki cotton shorts, they weren’t exactly garish. I then noticed that despite the scorching hot weather, everyone else was wearing trousers. Hmmmmm, something was up. I picked up my trusty Lonely Planet guide book and leafed through to the section on clothing…… “Wearing of shorts is considered to be mildly offensive by the local population…“ DOH! Great move Max. I did think about changing into trousers but figured getting semi-naked at the border post probably wouldn’t go down too well either.

Its probably boring to read about the details of getting through the process, so I’ll just highlight some of the more interesting points - In reality I guess the fact that I’m driving a Porsche doesn’t really work in my favour in some of these places (!)
$50 pocket money to the border agent to get the car through - In fairness once again this proved to be money well spent. The entry process is hell, and he smoothed things along where possible.

One stage of the entry process requires a guy to transfer some basic details from a form onto a computer. The data entry guy sat at his desk playing a game on his phone for 90 minutes, whilst I and another 20 or so drivers sat there waiting. Every now and then he’d put the phone down and type in one or two words using only one finger and at a painfully slow speed, then start playing the game again with a grin. If anyone asked anything he’d ignore them. Unbelievable! After waiting here for 90 minutes, just 3 or 4 of the drivers had left with their papers stamped. Just when I was about to walk out, the guy that I’d paid $50 to earlier on came into the room looking for me. He shouted at the guy on the phone and I was out in less than a minute.

Azerbaijan had a civil war with a neighbouring Negron in the not too distant past - One border guard marched up to the car whilst I was queuing, he spotted the Lonely Planet guide book on the drivers seats and asked to see it. Obviously familiar with the book, he leafed immediately to the section on ***** ripped the whole chapter out and walked off! Quite funny.
In due course we make it into Azerbaijan. Out on the open road and its great to be moving again - We pass through a Police checkpoint, but the cops blow a whistle and we’re flagged down. The cop walks up to the car “Radarrrrr speed, too much. Radarrrr” He’s jovial and we both know I need to pay to get going again, I wasn’t speeding. $20 later and we’re back enroute.

Twenty minutes later and blue lights flash up ahead. Same story, different face. The Police here have a fleet of brand new, gleaming white BMW 3-Series cars - They’re on every street corner and seem to just cruise about shouting at people via a loud speaker bolted to the roof. “Speeding. Radarrrrr $50” I manage to negotiate down to $30 and we’re off.

Another twenty minutes later, blue lights again. At this point I’m getting pretty pissed off, its becoming a joke - I video the guy, at least I’ll get something good for the blog out of this! At this rate I’ll be broke before we make it to Baku.

The wise words of the Georgian border guard echo in my mind and I decide to bite my lip. I calmly explain to the cop that we’ve already been stopped for money twice. He doesn’t care. “Seat belt. $50” I explain that we both had belts on. And walk back to the car to show him Becky, who still has her belt on. “Seatbelt, $50. Now” I refuse to pay, and he gives me the option of paying $50 now, or $150 in Baku when we get there.

Great I thought, I’ll go for the Baku option. Then just jump on the ferry boat to Turkmenistan and you can stick your fine. He then went on to explain that they keep my driving licence until payment……I negotiate to $20 pocket money and we’re off.

The car is still running great and despite some high temperatures its keeping cool. We motor on towards Baku, a grand total of 14 hours later we make it…

The majority of roads from the border to Baku were rough , some were dirt. But as you get to within 10km or so of Baku, things start to transform. Roads become new, then cats eyes & street lighting appear out of nowhere. Cresting a hill, the capital itself comes into a view - A vast, wealthy metropolis of grand marble buildings, spotless streets with ornate fountains and delicately paved walkways. The oil boom has paid dividends here and the powers that be seem keen to flaunt it - The feel is similar to that of Dubai in places.

Seemingly every other car is a new BMW or Mercedes - A brand new Porsche Cayenne GTS special edition screams passed us with the windows down and music blaring. All four occupants stick their head out the window cheering as they pass, they’re all about 17 years of age…

Using the now preferred tactic of hiring a cab to lead the way to our hotel, we check into the very nice “Azcot Hotel” a renovated mansion in the heart of town. Time for some well deserved sleep….

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